<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Caught in the Rain by milksalamander</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29711520">Caught in the Rain</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/milksalamander/pseuds/milksalamander'>milksalamander</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>First Meetings, Gen, Meet-Cute, two feet apart because one may have killed her adopted daughter, two synths sitting in an office</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:49:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,220</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29711520</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/milksalamander/pseuds/milksalamander</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff"><p>i'm lazy and also at work i'll add a summary later lmao</p></div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Nick Valentine/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Caught in the Rain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Snow coats Diamond City and her hands are tacky with Jules’ blood. </p><p>Shoving them into the pockets of the giant, ratty car coat she’d nicked off a trader in Bunker Hill, she tries to drift with the tide of residents. Unremarkable and easily ignored.</p><p>Tries being the operative word. She isn’t stupid, despite her Intistute rags, and the blood and dirt that stains them, lying concealed under her coat; there’s no hiding her nature. </p><p>The white of her hair, slicked back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. The gentle teal glow of her eyes, made stark in the gloomy, overcast weather. How her metallic skin shines under the city’s lights. The lines where the separate facial plates meet under her eyes and chin. </p><p>They all notice. In her periphery, multiple people tap their friends’ shoulder before pointing her out. Mothers snatch their children up before they get too close. </p><p>Many more simply watch her. Their judgement-laden glares all asking the same, unanimous question: </p><p>“What is that thing doing here?” </p><p>The weight of a thousand eyes pushes her to hustle. Head down, she rushes through Diamond City’s dirty, ramshackle back alleys. She doesn’t stop until she’s under the soft, pink glow of a neon sign. </p><p>Balling her fist in her sleeve, she knocks once. Twice. Three times. </p><p>When an old, beat up looking Gen 2 opens the door, his shock is quite obvious. She can see it in how he startles, the wideness of his eyes, his mouth hanging open. </p><p>It doesn’t matter. She curves her lips into a small smile, “Are-Are you the detective?” </p><p>She hopes she doesn’t look scared. Or, nervous. Or, guilty.</p><p>Even as the Gen 2 attempts to sober himself, his movements are laced with uncertainty, “Yes, I am.”</p><p>A beat. </p><p>An internal alert reminds her that prolonged exposure to the cold and snow may cause her joints to freeze. </p><p>“Can I come in?” </p><p>“Oh.” He says, rattling with nervous laughter. “Of course. Come on in.” </p><p>She stands awkwardly behind the closed doorway, wondering what it is that she should do. In all of her ‘exhibitions’ to the outside world, she’d never actually been let inside anyone’s home before. </p><p>Quickly scanning the small hovel, she can’t help but to be somewhat disappointed. The office is dingy, just like the rest of the wasteland. She had hoped that her fellow synth would’ve managed to keep his space cleaner. </p><p>That perhaps, she would walk inside and find herself a little piece of home in the wastes. </p><p>The gen 2 plucks a cigarette out of a small box and lights it. Taking a long drag, he sits at a desk close to the doorway. </p><p>“You can take off your coat. Rack’s to your left.” </p><p>Hesitating, she almost doesn’t do it. A quick glance shows that he’s watching her. She shucks the coat off, uncovering her dirty, stained Institute skivvies. </p><p>The gen 2’s eyes scan her uniform, flicking between both her bloodstained hands. He takes another drag of his cigarette. </p><p>“Park yourself right here, sister.” </p><p>She sits, and he offers the opened small box to her. It’s about half full with unsmoked cigarettes. She takes one, and he lights it for her. She sucks the foul tasting smoke into her mouth before blowing it out. </p><p>Another alert, warning that the chemical composition of the smoke may clog her pulmonary vents. </p><p>“I suppose some introductions are in order. The name’s Nick Valentine. I’m a private detective, but I think you knew that. ...And you are?”   </p><p>“Hadaly.” She’s never liked it. It’s never felt like her name. Now, it just leaves her with a bad taste, foul and sulfuric. Like ashes in her mouth. </p><p>“Hadaly.” Nick repeats. “Well, Hadaly, what’s got you doin’ figure-eights in my office?” </p><p>Again, his eyes flick towards her hands, balled into fists and leaving rust colored stains on her lap. </p><p>“She’s dead.” </p><p>He leans forward on his desk, looking her in the eyes. “Who’s dead?” </p><p>“Jules.” She chokes out. She wants to close her eyes, to not look at him. The fear of what she’ll see if she does kills that desire dead. </p><p>Nick doesn’t speak, just patiently waits for her to continue. She does. </p><p>“I didn’t kill her.” It feels like a lie, it sounds like a lie. </p><p>“I was supposed to watch her. There was--” She pulls from the cigarette, sits with the smoke in her artificial lungs for a moment. Forgetting to blow out, smoke billows around her when she decides to speak again, “--an accident. The building collapsed.</p><p>“There was nothing I could do! I couldn’t get her out--” The dam breaks, then. The lubricant that passes as tears flows like twin rivers. “I couldn’t get her out! I tried and I tried but all I could do was sit there until she died! Oh God, I let her die--” </p><p>Sobs wrack her body. Her hands move to cover her face, dropping the cigarette. Another alert chimes as it burns through her pants to her thigh. It goes ignored. </p><p>Nick reaches over, grabbing the cigarette before putting it out on a nearby ashtray. Handing her a tissue, he waits until her sobs subside into small hiccups and sniffles. </p><p>“What do you want to do?” </p><p>She stares at him, confused. “W-what...?” </p><p>He leans back in his chair, “There doesn’t seem like much I can do here for you. I’m a detective, not a doctor. I guess what I’m askin’ you is: Why are you here?”</p><p>“I can’t go back.” </p><p>“To the Institute.” </p><p>She nods again, dumbly. “I heard there was a synth here. I thought that--I didn’t think. I just came here.” </p><p>Nick’s mouth is set in a grim line, “Do you have a place to stay? Know anywhere to go?” </p><p>She shakes her head. He sighs. </p><p>“Well, look here. Business has been picking up. Lotta people go missing or get killed out there. You understand. I’ve been needing some help around here. ...Do you get what I’m saying?”</p><p>All she can offer is a blank stare. He sighs, again. “You can stay here, as long as you help out. That sound alright to you?”  </p><p>“You...believe me?” </p><p>“From what you say; it doesn’t seem like you’re the one who did her in. Or, anyone. It was an accident, right?” </p><p>She nods. It still feels like a lie. </p><p>“I’m offering you a place to stay and a job. To get you on your feet. It’s hard living out here as a synth--” He stops suddenly, mouth open. “How did you get them to let you in, anyway?”</p><p>He motions at her with his right hand. The skin’s been stripped off several fingers, the metal endoskeleton glinting in the light. “I mean, you pass for human just about as well as I do.” </p><p>Looking down, she wrings her hands, “I told them I knew you.”  </p><p>Chuckling, he takes another pull of his cigarette, “Smart move. So, what do you say? Partners?”</p><p>She looks back up at Nick, still laughing to himself. Studying him for a moment, weighing her options. </p><p>Option. </p><p>There are no forking roads here. Only a dark, dank tunnel. </p><p>And, at the end, a rosy glimmer, like an old neon sign. </p><p>When Nick looks back at her, nearly finished cigarette dangling between his skeletal fingers; she is resolute. </p><p>“Partners.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i'm lazy and also at work i'll add a summary later lmao</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>